


As They Fade

by McSwaggy2000



Series: As They Fade [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angry Niall, Angst, Artist Zayn, Bi-Curiosity, Confused Liam, Depressed Louis, Depression, Fluff, Happy Harry, Homosexuality, M/M, Minor Perrie Edwards/Zayn Malik, Oblivious Liam, Protective Zayn, SO MUCH HOMOSEXUALITY, Sad Louis, Sad Niall, Self-Harm, Shy Liam, adventurer niall, curious liam, deep zayn, determined zayn, idk how to tag, just basically a bunch of boys who had to grow up too fast, therapist harry, zayn is fucking perfect tbh, zouis are bffs and i cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McSwaggy2000/pseuds/McSwaggy2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis is a schizophrenic, Harry is a psychology major, Zayn is there for his friends, Liam needs some time, and Niall is just trying to find out who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Louis's Point of View

"I'll let you in on a secret," he whispers to me, and we're wrapped in blankets in our bed, noses brushing and limbs entwined. Rain patters on the roof in in the distance there's thunder and normally I'm afraid of thunder, but it's not so scary when Ethan is here with me. "I'm never going to love anyone but you."

And I know he means it, and I mean it too when I say them back softly. He means it when he kisses me on the lips and I mean it when I'm gasping softly as he makes love to me that night. I'll never not mean it, and neither will he, and that's what makes us us.

But then he doesn't mean it when I'm throwing his things at him and screaming, tears streaming down my face because he told me he was going to stop.

Stop.

Stop.

 

He doesn't mean it when he's yelling and I'm yelling back and things are a mess.

He doesn't mean it when he's slamming the door behind him when he leaves me in the apartment that's too empty for one. 

I mean it when I cry alone on the floor.

He means it when he comes back, in ruins, apologizing over and over for not stopping, and I mean it when I kiss his face.

His lips.

His wrists.

I mean it two months later when I find him in the bathroom, blood on the razor blades surrounding him on the tile. I mean it when I call the hospital. I mean it when I hold his body and scream until my throat is raw. I mean it when they can't do anything for him. By then he's already been gone.

For minutes.

For hours.

I mean it when I cry over his casket. 

I meant it then.

I mean it now.


	2. Harry

It takes me a little while to notice, but someone is watching me.

A long, curly someone with these eyes that I can see through the dim light of the club.

A cliché, meeting in a club. But my life has been full of clichés lately and anyway, clichés are good sometimes. Like now, with him watching me and me watching him from across the dance floor, which is full of sweaty, writhing bodies. And I’ve never been one for dancing, so I drink and I watch and Zayn is outside smoking and chatting up some pretty brunette, so I’m alone but that’s okay.

I don’t feel alone, not with those eyes watching me. He starts weaving his way through the crowd, that body moving like nothing I’ve ever seen, like a tiger on the prowl, and everything about him makes sweat break out on my brow, but maybe that’s just because everyone is crowding around and the pulsing beat of the music makes me nervous. He’s wearing tight black jeans on his legs that go forever, and I start imagining those legs wrapped around me.

Suddenly a voice interrupts my thought.

“Hey,” it says.

“Hey,” I reply.

My head goes fuzzy as he stands in front of me, and I don’t know why I’m thinking this way because I haven’t had much to drink and anyways, this isn’t how I usually am. But I guess Zayn is getting his wish, because he brought me out to hook me up because I haven’t been the same since… well…

So I look into the eyes of the man standing in front of me and wow, he definitely is a man. Though his dimples surprise me and his eyes are so innocent that I’m not sure how I thought they had looked seductive before. He’s tall. So tall that I have to look up a bit, but that’s okay because tall guys turn me on.

He gives me a smile.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m Harry.”

That voice gives me shivers. It’s deep and gravelly and lord, I’m not surprised.

“Louis,” I reply, and I try to look cool and toss my fringe, putting my hands in my back pockets and leaning back on my heels. I’m bracing myself for whatever he’s about to say, when suddenly he says it. And I’m not ready.

“Look, I know this is straightforward-“

Oh boy.

“But I was just wondering…”

Here it goes.

“If you could buy my friend a drink.”

Oh god. He nods behind him, and I follow the nod to see a pretty, petite brunette who looks just as uncomfortable as I feel standing where Harry just was, her arms wrapped around herself and her wide brown eyes searching the crowd frantically. She doesn’t want to be here. And I don’t blame her.

I stutter at Harry, because my stupid self was imagining stupid him wanting to by me a drink. But instead he wants stupid me to buy pretty, sweet girl a drink and god; I’m going to look like a dick no matter what I do.

“It’s just that I saw you watching her earlier, and I thought that was kind of nice. She just got out of a bad break up, see-”

“And you brought her to a bar?” I ask, because I’m wondering why exactly friends seem to think that bars are the best medicines for ending relationships. No thank you, I’d rather be at home watching Love Actually. Harry blushes deeply, like he knows it’s a stupid idea.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“She looks so uncomfortable.”

He looks at her with me, and I think he starts to see it too.

“Yeah, I guess she does.”

But I sigh anyways, and nod, because god knows I’ve been there.

“What’s her name?” I ask as I turn to the bartender and order a water.

“Eleanor - just water?”

“She won’t want alcohol. Look at what you bought her-”

We both look back to Eleanor and the pink alcoholic drink that’s sitting on the table next to her, untouched.

“She hasn’t drank any of it.”

Harry watches me, his hands in his pockets, and a small smile on your face.

“You’re smart. A real ladies’ man, huh?”

“Uh…” I thank the bartender as he slides me the glass of water, and look into Harry’s eyes. He’s so close, because there isn’t much room at the bar, and I can smell his cologne. “Sure, you could say that.”

We make our way over to Eleanor, and I have no idea what I’m doing. What am I doing? I’m not straight, I figured that out seven years ago when I realized that I had been looking at boys a lot more than girls, and liking it. So why was I on my way to talk to this perfectly nice girl, who was obviously still heartbroken over a probably very straight man, only to get her hopes up that all men were not evil, as she probably now thought? Only to confirm her suspicious because, surely by the end of all this, she would think I was most definitely evil.

He was why. I knew it, looking up at him as we walked to the girl. With his long stride and the way he kept running his fingertips over his pretty red lips, his brow furrowed so that he looked like he was frowning but really he was just concentrating. I caught on to all of this from the start, because to me, if there was anything that was easy for me to understand, it was Harry Styles. Yet he was the most complicated thing all at the same time.

Eleanor, the shy girl, looks relieved when Harry appears before her, but immediately stressed when she catches sight of me. She casts her tall, gorgeous friend a desperate look, like “Why would you do this?”

Harry, however, tosses a gentle arm around her shoulders and her head barely comes to his shoulder. “El, this is-”

But before he can finish, I cut him off, holding out the water as a peace offering of sorts.

“Louis,” I finish, and give her a small smile that can’t possibly be taken as flirting. “Tomlinson. Thirsty?”

Eleanor looks at the water apprehensively for a moment, until she takes it.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says, and her voice is sweet, and I notice that the accent is strictly a Londoner’s. She takes a long drink, her eyes still watching me. She’s not stupid, she knows that Harry has put me up to this. And she knows that I know that she knows. So I sigh, casting a look at Harry, and say,

“You want to go outside? It’s too loud in here.”

Her eyes light up as she sits down the water. “Gladly.”

Harry watches with curious eyes as we make our way out of the club, and I meet Zayn in the door way.

“Hey!” he says, looking in surprise at Eleanor, because needless to say he didn’t expect me to be leaving with… well… a female.

“Hey,” I reply, smiling apologetically, giving him an “I’ll explain later” look. “This is Eleanor,” the two give each other polite smiles, Zayn nodding in the way he does, “We’ll be back. Don’t leave without me, all right?”

“No problem. The brunette was a fall out.”

“Surprising,” I give him a pat on his shoulder as he shrugs and makes his way back into the club.

“Don’t go too far,” I hear him say.

Sometimes I wonder if Zayn's actually into the girls that he takes home, showing up at my flat hours later, lips smudged with pink or red and bruises blossoming on the golden skin of his neck, smelling sickeningly sweet and a little like old burbon and sometimes stale beer, depending on what kind of mood he was in that night. Sometimes I wonder whether he enjoys the way that guys at sketchy clubs look at him a little too long, dragging their fingertips along the side of his thighs as they dance against him. He thinks I don't notice the smirks that grow on his lips, but I do. Sometimes I wonder. 

Eleanor slips out ahead of me, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, and the view of the city is quite beautiful, so I walk over to the edge where the street meets the water, and hold onto the railing that separates them. Lights shines in the darkness. She stands beside me after a few minutes, and I don’t know what she thought I was going to say, but she got there first.

“I just want you to know,” she says, “That I just got out of a relationship.”

“Harry told me.”

“And I’m not really looking to get into anything serious. Especially not with someone I just met. At a club that my boyfriend’s best friend took me to – ex boyfriend I mean.”

I let out a relieved breath, hoping that my relief wouldn’t be too obvious, but I didn’t want to date Eleanor. Or any girl for that matter. But then I didn’t want her to know I was gay, because then I would look stupid for having let this go on too long.

But then, ex boyfriend’s best friend? She was talking about Harry, of course. That was sweet, I mean, that he was still talking to her. Very grown up.

“Okay,” I breathed, but I realized with sudden panic that she was leaning closer to me, and all I could think was, liar get away.

“But I will sleep with you if you want.”

I don’t know what was wrong with me. Tonight’s not been a good night, and anyways it hasn’t even been that long since… well… I’m off of my game.

Out of my mind.

The only thing that I can think about is him and Harry, and I’m confused because I shouldn’t be thinking about Harry while I’m thinking about him, because it sort of taints the memories, and I feel so guilty.

But I find myself nodding, and I don’t know why. Things are going downhill, and I was perfectly sane moments ago until I realize that I didn’t take my meds before we left. They’re still rattling in their bottle in the drawer in my bathroom, underneath the magazines and rolls of toilet paper, well hidden along with a necklace that he gave me and a few razor blades.

Zayn has really done so well up until now, and I had almost felt normal for a moment. But now Eleanor is kissing me and it’s overwhelming and I don’t know why I like it. Suddenly, I open my eyes and he’s standing there, his hands in his pockets and a straight face. I close my eyes tightly again, because the sleeves of his hoodie were rolled up like they always used to be and I can see the scars along his forearms.

“Across. Louis. Because that’s longer and sweeter.” 

Eleanor hails us a cab, and then she goes in to tell Harry what’s going on, and I wait and stare at him, because he’s still there.

“You’re not real,” I say, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t talk. He never talks.

“You’re dead..”

He nods. I cringe.

Eleanor’s voice meets my ears, and her footsteps approach me. “Did you say something?” she asks, and I shake my head, watching him.

Ethan stares at me, and I look to Eleanor to ask his permission. He nods. Then, as she and I get into the cab, I pull out my phone and text Zayn.

 

'Never mind. Leave without me. Ethan told me to go.'

 

And turn it off before I get his frantic reply, telling me to get back. Telling me that the Ethan I see is not real.


	3. I Hate Rock N' Roll

I hate Rock N' Roll. 

I used to love it; The Stones and The Who and The Killers. Zayn and I went to at least four concerts a year and sang until our throats went raw and drank and drank until things didn't make sense anymore. 

I think he misses that side of me, but Zayn, he never says anything because he thinks I'm fragile and now that I think about it, he's right. 

But Ethan wasn't like that. He liked Bon Iver, Snow Patrol, Coldplay - silly things like that and after a while, I sorta liked them too. We'd listen to them, our bare feet tangled and hair russled up, while he read and I watched him. That's the type of person he was; quiet, and that's the type of person I became too. 

I hate Rock N' Roll, because it makes my pulse pound and reminds me of the night when Zayn convinced me to let go and Ethan found me with my hands thrown up in the air as All These Things That I've Done sounded through the speakers of that weird club on Fourty-Second where the strobes are slower and the color of the bartender's hair neon pink. 

 

 

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier  
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier  
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

 

 

*

 

She smells of vanilla and some kind of fancy perfume, but I don’t know what kind. That’s all I can think of, and quite frankly it’s all I want to think of.

I’ve never had sex with a girl before, so this is weird. I mean, it’s not like I’m a virgin because I lost my virginity to Ethan three years ago, but having sex with a girl and having sex with a guy are two very different things.

To start off with, girls are not nearly as fun. Nor does having sex with them feel as good. Sure it’s the same basic idea, but I don’t know, there’s just something about having a dick up your ass that is absolutely mind blowing. And after being strictly-dickly for my entire life, there’s something off putting about the way Eleanor is bouncing up and down on my pelvis, moaning like a well-paid prostitute.

I pull through it, though I don’t know how, and eventually find myself sweaty and out of breath, not at all sexually stimulated or post-orgasmic, lying next to her on the lilac sheets which now don’t smell good anymore, but like sweat and guilt.

Eleanor smiles at me, her fingers playing with the fabric of her pillowcases. “That was great,” she whispered, and I forced a smile.

“Uh, yeah.”

She stood from the bed, dragging along the sheets and wrapping them around her bare body, leaving me with the blankets. “Do you want coffee or anything?”

I have to get out. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Look, I need to get going-” and oh, I’m going to sound like a dick, but I don’t think she minds. She looks relieved that I didn’t accept her offer and nods.

“Yeah, sure!”

I pull on my briefs and tug on my t-shirt. “But I had a great time.”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.”

I don’t know what’s custom after a completely unsatisfactory (for me at least) bout of sex, so I make my way for the door, but she gets there first and opens it for me, smiling. Then she hands me my phone.

“Don’t forget this,” she says, and I realize that I left it on her bedside table. I take it from her with a smile.

“Thanks.”

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me, and goddamn it, I should have stopped all of this then.

“Do you want my number?” she asks, and I turn to see her nearly hugging the door, looking once again like that shy, sweet girl I’d met in the club. Self conscious and unsure, and I’m feeling guilty, so I nod and she grabs a pen and writes the digits on my palm with loopy, pretty handwriting.

“Cool,” I hold up my palm for her to see, “I’ll call you.”

“Promise?”

I don’t know what possess me to do this, but I’ve been where she is and I feel for her. So I nod.

“Promise.”

I hail a cab and make it home a half hour later, to the empty flat filled with flipped over pictures of Ethan and me at the carnival, and at that concert last summer. It’s darker and emptier than it normally is, but maybe that’s just because it’s about 3:30 in the morning. I see a note from Zayn on the fridge, and I guess he used his key to let himself in.

Lou-

Couldn’t get a hold of you 

Call me when you get home

If you don’t, I’ll call Jay

-Z

 

I don’t want him calling my mum, because for god’s sake I’m a grown man, so I take out my phone and turn it on, wait for all of the texts and voicemails to come streaming in, and then once that’s over I dial his number, which is speed dial number one, and wait as it connects.

A groggy voice answers, “Lou?”

“Hey Zayn, I’m fine.”

“Good. You home?”

“I’m home.”

“Good. It’s 3:30.”

“Yeah, I went home with Eleanor.”

“Yeah, no, I got that, Louis… a girl.”

“I guess.” I flick a few crumbs off of the kitchen counter and then make my way through the living room to my bedroom. The bed sits empty in the corner, and it even seems empty whenever I’ll sleep in it later.

“I don’t know, Zayn… Maybe I like girls now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agreed.

He sighs, and it makes the receiver crackle. “I’ll be over with food around ten. Go to sleep, Louis.”

“Right.”

“Hey, take your meds.”

I close my eyes, and regret the fact that Zayn knows me so well. It’s much easier to have no one care.

“Yeah, I will.”

And I do, once he hangs up with murmurs of goodnight. I walk into the bathroom and open the drawer, move aside the magazines and the toilet paper, and eye the razor blades wearily. I pop open the bottle and down two pills before tossing the bottle back into the drawer and covering it again with the magazines- but something stops me.

There he stands, right beside me, and I see him in the mirror. His dark hair covers his eyes almost to the point of not being able to see them, but a few slivers of gray shine through. His sleeves are rolled up again, I can see the scars, and I hear his long lost words again. 

“Across, Louis.”

I move the magazines and grab a razor blade.


	4. And Then I Saw Him Again

Zayn always arrives exactly when he means to, so by nine forty five I'm showered and dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt that covers up the scars on my arms. He comes in on his own just as I'm checking and double checking myself in the mirror, making sure that the fresh cuts aren't visible and putting on a false smile that is sure not to fool him, but it's worth a shot. 

"Lou," he calls, and I tug down my sleeves. 

"In here," I say, but I make it to him before he does to me, meeting in the living room. His smile falters as soon as he sees the dark pits under my eyes.

"Late night, huh?" He asks, and I shrug, not feeling like talking about last night because that would involve re living it and I didn't want to do that either. Zayn senses this, and he's good about not bothering me. He stopped asking questions a long time ago, so that's how we work now. No questions asked. 

He's a good enough friend to change the subject. "I brought food," he states, and goes for my bathroom, "Be back."

I murmur my okay and start in on the bag of pastries without him. I really, truly, almost get away with everything too, before he returns way too early and clears his throat loudly from the doorway behind me. Shivers run up my spine.

"You told me you stopped," his voice echoes off the bare walls. I swallow a bit of muffin, and it goes down harder than usual. His footsteps come up behind me and a razor blade, bloody and forgotten by me, ever the careless one, clatters on the counter next to where I stand.

Stupid, hot tears prick in my eyes at the sight of my weakness. "I did," I whisper, "But then..."

"Then you saw him again" he states flatly, and that makes my stomach drop. I no longer feel like eating.

"And then I saw him again," I agree.

*

I don't like thinking about Ethan, because that makes me want to hurt myself, and I don't want to do that either. But I deserve it, I know I do, so I hurt myself anyways. Zayn says it's not my fault, but he's the only one that thinks so and he just says that because he's my friend and that's what friends do. They lie.

The therapist said I was in a delicate stage, so I threw a vase at him and stopped going to our sessions. I don't like him because he's condescending and also acts like it wasn't my fault. My mum stopped calling after a while because I think she doesn't like having a head case son and she has Lottie and Fizzy to take care of so I guess understand. 

"You should go back," Zayn says quietly, hours later when I'm done crying and he's done talking to me in soothing tones and decides it's time for tough love. He means to the therapist, but I shake my head.

"No, he was always telling me what to do."

"That's what his job is."

"I don't want to."

"Fine."

We don't talk about it anymore, and he decides that he doesn't want me here alone. I agree after a while. I don't want to see Ethan anymore, and he never shows up when I'm not by myself. 

*

I don't call Eleanor, but she calls me, and then about five minutes into our conversation I start wondering how she got my number. I don't ask.

It's about three days after the night at the club, and she sounds absolutely desperate for attention and I finally told Zayn to go back to work, so I'm home alone and I've run out of medicine. When she asks me if I want to go for coffee, I find myself thinking about it.

"Not just you and me, if you don't mind... Harry too."

That makes my heart leap. The opportunity to see the long, curly boy with pretty eyes and a prettier smile makes me agree hastily.

"Okay," says Eleanor, sounding giddy, "See you at three?"

"See you there."

*

I must have changed twenty times, having to stand wrapped in a towel in between inadequate outfits, my hair dripping wet and unstyled. I'm nervous, and a voice in my head keeps telling me to calm down. Impossible. 

Since the club, I've been unable to get him out of my head, and I guess that makes me swoony and teenagerish, but I don't mind because something tells me that Harry is well worth wasting my time over. The scars are healing, but slowly, and you can still see the marks, but it's a second nature to be able to hide them, after years of experience. Before I leave, I give Zayn a call, telling him where I'm going.

"With that girl again?" He asks, distracted.

"Eleanor," I correct him, "And yeah, her and that -uh... You know the tall guy that was at the club - that tall, curly hair..."

His laugh comes through the receiver. "Yeah, 'course, You didn't stop looking at him all night,"

I blush, and at first I feel self conscious about it, but then I remember that he can't see me, so instead I roll my eyes and leave the apartment. "Shut up... Look, Eleanor just got out of a bad break up, and I feel for her, you know?" I pull my jacket on, holding the cell phone between my shoulder and my cheek. 

"Otherwise known as," I can just imagine him leaning back in the chair which he sits in behind the counter of the shop where he works, which is overrated and not good enough for him, a smug smirk plastered to his face as he reads my mind, "you like this Harry guy, and you're getting to him through poor Eleanor. I have to say, Louis, shame on you."

I leave the apartment complex before holding open the door for an older lady who's been eyeing me shamelessly ever since I moved in. I'm not sure how much clearer I can make my sexuality... maybe I should just tattoo "Gay" on my head in big bold letters and then women will understand and I won't wind up in situations like this. "Screw you, Zayn," I say, and I'm somewhat serious, "She never asked if I was gay." Which I guess is technically true, so I nod to myself, trying to legitimize the wrong I'm doing. 

"And yet you still fucked her, mate."

I cringe, "Don't say that," I mutter, and I decide to walk because the cafe where Eleanor and I agreed to meet wasn't a cab ride away, "It sounds so crass."

"Sorry, Lou, but god, it was kind of a dick move."

"I know!" I burst suddenly, startling a few passing children, "Zayn, I know! But look... I'm just... there's something about this guy..."

"Louis..."

"I know what you're going to say. I shouldn't be diving into anything I can't handle, because what if something happens. Well it won't. I won't let it... not this time."

"There shouldn't even be a this time," he says quietly, "You're going about this all wrong."

"Forget it," I snap, coming up to the door of the cafe. Through the wall of windows I can see Eleanor and Harry chattering idly in a side booth. He threw his head back in laughter, and I swear whatever Eleanor said must have been positively hysterical. But his eyes were crinkled and his teeth so perfect and I could just imagine what that laugh sounded like. My anger towards Zayn fades. "I'll see you later, right?"

"Right," he replies, clearly peeved, but I knew that Zayn was just being Zayn, and he was just looking out for me. So I open the door and walk into the cafe, and into the beginning of something brilliant.


	5. Bleeding For You

Sitting in a café with the girl who I previously had sexual intercourse with and the boy who I would like to have sexual intercourse with proves to be more awkward than not.

 

It’s not him – he’s great. Brilliant. He’s all lovely smiles and telling stories and everything about him makes me feel comfortable. No, it’s Eleanor, and the way her foot keeps travelling up and down my leg, making me purse my lips and stare blankly at the tea inside my cup. 

 

I should say it right then and there. Should jump up and scream, “I AM NOT HETEROSEXUAL!” and then run out of that cafe as fast as possible before I could see the looks on either of their faces. But I don’t, because I’m an idiot. Instead I sit there and enjoy another hour of Harry’s exquisite stories, with him stopping occasionally to ask me if I want any sugar for my coffee, and I say no while absolutely not staring straight into his emerald green eyes - absolutely not. 

 

They're something special. Something like nothing I've ever seen before and that makes my stomach churn because I don't like unexpected things. Finally, Harry sighs, looking at the watch on his wrist. You don't see many young blokes with wristwatches, so it's impressive because I guess that means he's efficient or something cool like that. 

 

“I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, Eleanor,” he says, and the fact that he actually looks regretful about having to leave is impressive to me, considering that if I had a meeting to get to in twenty minutes, I would skip away, whistling with glee, absolutely ecstatic to be escaping our dear Miss Eleanor. The fact, however, that he doesn’t have some sort of pet name for her, like El or Ellie, gives me hope, because they can’t be that close. 

 

Eleanor nods understandingly and stands to give him a hug before he leaves. I watch, drinking my scalding hot third cup of coffee, and notice things about Harry which I hadn’t before, like the veins in his arms and his long, long fingers, and how – are those tattoos? I can only see the tips of little wings peeking up from the scoop-neck cut of his long-sleeved t-shirt, but yeah, they definitely are, and that intrigues me. 

 

They hug, and then I realize that Harry’s holding a hand out to me. So I gulp down the coffee and stand as well, shaking his hand firmly.

 

“Lovely seeing you again, Lou,” he says, and god, the way my name rolls off his tongue makes me melt in a way I haven’t in a while. That makes fireworks of nerves explode in my insides. 

“Yeah,” I reply, breathless, “You too.” And yes, I decide, yes, I most definitely mean that. 

 

*

 

After shaking off Eleanor, finally, I roamed around the city for a few hours, because I realized that I hadn’t been out much since… Ethan, and I miss the obnoxious people and dirty air, so I walk until my feet hurt too much to go further, and turn back. 

 

He’s following me the whole way, his hands in his pockets and his wrists dripping blood, a small, sad smile on his lips, and he doesn’t say anything, as usual. Ethan doesn’t make me as nervous as he usually does, because Harry’s hand in mine gave me a little bit of warmth.

 

Today, I don’t think I feel like hurting myself. That is, until I get two streets away from the flat and suddenly, it hits me like a freight train.  
Tommy the Homeless Man, who I sometimes give my old clothes to, watches as I collide into a brick wall because, all of a sudden, he’s not just there, but he’s in my head. He’s in my eyes. Ethan is lying on the floor and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding, all over the white bathroom floor tiles. The floor tiles that I would scrub for hours and finally give up on and cover with an old rug. 

 

I can see the very moment I found him, until I can’t see anything else. Not the sky, or the wall that I am leaning upon, or Tommy the Homeless Man walking towards me and going, “Tommo? Tommo?”

 

I can see his eyes staring blankly at nothing, dead and no longer shining, and that’s it. I can’t take it anymore. 

 

I shove Tommy away, half of me mumbling apologies because he didn’t do anything, and I cover my ears and shout and run all the way back to the flat, where I bolt the door behind me and stumble into the bathroom.

 

I rip open drawer after drawer, but they’re not there and I’m still screaming. Zayn must have taken each and every one while I wasn’t home. So I put my head between my knees and sit and sob on the rug on the bathroom floor until I hear Zayn banging on the door over the sound of my cries.

 

“Louis?” he shouts, and he sounds absolutely frantic. Zayn’s a good friend. I need to tell him that more often. “Louis, open the goddamn door before you do something stupid! LOUIS!”

 

The sound of his screams make me look up slowly, and when I do, something behind the toilet catches my attention. Forgotten, lost, and battered, the lone blade lying there reminds me of myself, and I grab it. I cut my arms. Then my thighs. Then my hips. 

 

Finally, when I’m tired and my eyes are so red I think they might explode, when I’m smeared with blood and I get dizzy, I stumble to the door in my boxers, but just then, the window of the bathroom crashes in and I look up to see Zayn stumbling in onto the broken glass. I wonder how the hell he managed to get to the window, because the only thing outside the window is a two foot wide ledge. But he’s standing there and he’s staring at me. His eyes are red rimmed too, like mine, and he walks forward and grabs the blade from my hand. I let him throw it across the room.

 

And then he grabs me, and pulls me to his chest, and doesn’t even care that there is blood on his clothes or that I am in my boxers, because Zayn does the impossible for me, and I don’t deserve him as a friend, because all I do is cause him pain. But he’s still there, so I clutch him back and cry into his leather jacket.


	6. To Be Free

“I want to go back.” 

 

It’s night. Zayn’s biting on his thumb nail, lying on the bed beside me as the two of us stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Ethan stuck on the ceiling for my birthday one year, when I was missing the stars which were clearly visible on our trip to the countryside earlier that month. Light from the street lamp outside floods yellow through the window and casts a few beams upon the floor. His head makes noise on the pillow as he turns to look at me through the darkness. I don’t stop staring hard at the stars. There’s a few that are shooting stars, not just regular ones, and I can’t count how many times I’ve fallen asleep wishing upon those glowing pieces of plastic only to wake up and realize that they are just that, not magic. 

 

“Back?” his voice his rough against the quiet. 

 

“To therapy. I –” emotion swells into a lump in my windpipe, and I gasp lightly for air. On the covers, Zayn finds my hand and squeezes lightly. I wonder what I did to deserve such a friend. “The medicine isn’t working anymore. Maybe I do need help, Zayn. Maybe-” tears run hot down the sides of my face, into my ears, and it tickles but I don’t mind. The stream and stream like a never ending flow of bad emotion, and they remind me of life. “Maybe it’s time for me to forget him.”

 

Unexpectedly, his grip tightens on my hand, and his head straightens back so he is facing the stars once again. “You don’t need to forget him, Louis,” his voice is thick and I chew my bottom lip until I taste blood because Zayn, he’s always been the strong one, and I’ve never known him to shed a single tear, “You just need to learn how to be okay with remembering him.”

 

And that sounds easier said than done, but I decide in that moment, eyes trained on blurry stars as warm tears tickle my cheeks, that I need to learn to be strong. I’ve never been so good at being strong for myself, because I’ve never thought I deserved that. But Zayn does. He deserves a better job and a better flat and a better girl than the ones who smell like alcohol and leave lip stick stains on his shirt collar. And he sure as hell deserves a better friend. 

 

And I’ll be better for Zayn, I say to myself.

 

Then I close my eyes only to see dancing green eyes staring back at me in the darkness of my lids. A curly mop of hair and a mess of arms and legs. 

 

And some day, maybe for Harry Styles too. 

 

*

 

Maybe wolves howl at the moon because they were once lovers, separated by the universe, never to be able to touch again.

 

I stare up at the sliver of silver in the sky and know how it feels. 

 

Zayn turns onto a busy street, a few streets down from the wishing fountain where Ethan once dumped a bag of coins and whispered, “To be free.” 

It’s about opening time for most of the shops, and Zayn called off work today to be with me for this, for which I am beyond forever grateful. He pulls alongside the road and edges his way between a sleek black Audi and a beat up Volkswagen, puts the car into park and then turns in his seat. 

 

“We can go home right now, just say the word,” he says quietly, looking me straight in the eyes, and that makes me fidget with my seat belt. It’s a test of sorts, but suddenly I am determined to pass it, so I fit my lips between my teeth and unclip my seatbelt.

 

“Absolutely not,” I say, and open the car door.

 

I wait beside the car as he feeds the meter and we walk down the street together. It’s a little way air is refreshing and the smell of the coming winter delights my senses. We’re getting closer and closer to the place when all of a sudden, there he is. I stop short in my tracks, and Zayn walks a few more steps before realizing that I’m no longer beside him. Ethan stands four feet in front of me, his arms outstretched in a crucifying pose. His head is lowered, and as it rises, my entire body trembles. Zayn turns, his eyes widening as he stares at me.

 

“Louis? Louis?” he shouts, but I am staring at Ethan as his eyes meet mine. Silver like the moon. A smile is painted on his chapped lips.

 

“You’ll never get rid of me, Louis.”

 

“Louis!” 

 

“You’re stuck with me, because you’re the reason I’m dead.”

 

It hits me like a freight train, and I stumble backwards, my hands on my ears as Zayn walks through Ethan and towards me, his arms outstretched.

 

“Louis, he’s not really there,” his voice comes softly, but then Ethan reappears beside me.

 

“He’s right. Which just means that you’re crazy.”

 

His voice comes as a hiss, and a scream rips from my throat. 

 

“YOU’RE. NOT. REAL.”

 

I turn in a flash, before Zayn can grab me, and run down the street, remembering like it was yesterday the way to the fountain. A few streets across it comes into view, and I run in front of a car as Zayn shouts my name from far away. The driver screeches to a stop before he hits me, but I keep running. I run and run and a few early morning walkers stare at me until I stop in front of the fountain which is running quietly. Coins glitter on the blue bottom and I collapse on the edge of the fountain.

 

Tears flow freely down my cold cheeks and I hear a breathless Zayn stop behind me. He doesn’t come up, but stays a few feet behind as I roll up my sleeves past the scars and plunge my hands into the cold water. 

 

When my hands reemerge they are filled with shiny coins; nickels, quarters, dimes, and pennies alike. One by one I drop them back into the water, and each splash lands a few drops of water onto my pants. I watch each one sink to the bottom of the fountain, and it’s with the very last dime that I whisper, “To be free.” And watch the coin make a free fall into the water.


End file.
